


And Another Thing

by morningCrescent



Series: Bros With Benefits [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningCrescent/pseuds/morningCrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After upsetting Dave, Karkat wants to make it up to him.</p><p>(takes place right after "In Which Dave Has A Feeling" so I suggest you read that one first.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Another Thing

You’ve never really liked taking naps. They’re nice while you’re asleep, sure, but you always wake up from them feeling worse for the wear. That doesn’t stop you from napping all the time, though. What can you say, you’re an emotionally and physically exhausted adolescent trapped on a rock hurtling through space, it’s not like you have a lot of options. And frankly, napping is always better with Dave. You’ve started sleeping more in his bed than your pile these days; it’s much bigger, and actually more comfortable, and of course, you get to snuggle with Dave, so it only seems the logical option. In fact, you just so happen to be waking up from one such nap at the moment.

You look over at Dave. He’s still asleep. How he’s managed to sleep comfortably with his shades still on is a mystery to you. And then you’re reminded of why he put them on in the first place.

Shit. You feel terrible. You spoke carelessly, and you hurt him. Plus, as you were trying to comfort him, you got carried away to the point where he had to stop you from going any further. What a lousy boyfriend you are.

You watch him for a little while, observing the way his eyebrows quirk or his lips occasionally part to let out little breaths of air. He looks cute, you think, which is odd because ‘cute’ is not usually a word you’d use to describe him. Handsome, maybe. Hot, definitely. Of course, you’d never say any of that to his face. No, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You boost his ego in plenty of other ways, anyway.

At some point during the nap, one of you let go of the other’s hand. You notice this because one of Dave’s hands is fisted in your shirt, the other curled against his chest. You don’t usually wake up before him, so it’s a rare occurrence that you get to watch him sleep. He looks… small. Curled in on himself. Vulnerable. It makes you kind of uncomfortable and only reminds you further of what led the two of you into this position. You didn’t like seeing him so distressed like that. It flooded you with protective instincts, and you suppose that must be how he feels when you fall apart. It was weird, because Dave is usually the one who has things under control; even when he doesn’t, he does.

You’re still feeling kind of protective, so you curl yourself around his body, stroke his cheek, run a hand through his hair, kiss him on the corner of the mouth. He’s always joked about how you’re the mothering type, the kind of person who looks after everyone and makes sure they’re okay. You never really agreed, but you suppose you can sort of see where he’s coming from.

You pity him. You love him. For a while, you weren’t sure you could feel both at the same time. After all, this is Dave Strider you’re talking about. What was there to pity? Well, plenty, as it turned out. Like you, he struggles with his self-esteem. He likes to think he’s better at masking it, but his attempts to hide his feelings are, like your own, pathetically transparent. You may not be as well-versed as Rose in topics of human psychology, but even you could see his constant need for validation from fairly early on—the way he would talk, and keep talking, as if desperately hoping for something, _anything_ to garner a positive response. Also like you, he feels responsible for everything and everyone. He may pretend shit doesn’t bother him, but you know better. You know he takes on the weight of the world, sets heroic expectations for himself, wants to protect everyone. Must be a knight thing. Dave’s a mess, just like you. You just didn’t want to acknowledge it, not when he was nothing more to you than the frustratingly attractive object of your desire. But now, of course, he’s much more than that. He’s your best friend, the person you love more than anyone else, the one you want to hold close and never stop holding.

He shifts a bit, and his breathing gets shallower. He’s starting to wake up. Behind his shades, his eyes flutter open and the first place they look is directly at you. He smiles a bit.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough and raspy with sleep.

“Hey,” you say quietly, matching his smile.

He inhales deeply, stretches his legs and back. The hand clamped in the fabric of your shirt is still there, though he flexes the fingers slightly.

“So,” he says. “How was the nap?”

“Fine. Was it as good for you as it was for me?” you ask, waggling your eyebrows.

“Ooh, baby, yeah,” he laughs. His voice is starting to come back. You wince internally remembering how weak it sounded earlier. Speaking of which…

“Hey, uh. I know I already said sorry, but… I’m sorry. About earlier.” His expression gets more serious.

“Babe, I already said it’s okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know that. I just. Feel bad, is all.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Well… it kind of was.” He sighs.

“How can I make you stop feeling bad about this?”

“I. I don’t know.”

He removes his hand from your shirt, takes off his shades, and places them back on the bedside table. He blinks a few times as his eyes adjust, though the lights in his room are kept pretty dim. Then he looks at you, leans over, and kisses you on the cheek.

“We could… continue what we started earlier, maybe?” he says with an uncertain smile. A surge of excitement hits you at the thought of doing so, and you smile back.

“You want to?” you ask.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want to,” he replies, trying to be nonchalant.

You make a sound that could be construed as a laugh as you press your lips to his, then whisper against his mouth, “I’d love to.”

“Sweet,” he says with a grin, pulling you on top of him and into another kiss.

His lips drag slowly, lazily against yours, a gradual heat building up between the two of you. He has one hand at the small of your back, the other in your hair, holding you close. You feel like you could seep into him. You flick your tongue across his lower lip and he moans as his mouth opens to let you in. A sigh escapes your nose and you press your torso more firmly against his as he coaxes your tongue further into his mouth. You run your tongue along the backs of his teeth, lick at his palate. He moans again, louder this time, sounding almost desperate. You continue making out like this for a good while before you pull back, and he groans in disappointment.

“How are you doing?” you ask, face hovering inches from his.

“I was doing great until you stopped kissing me,” he says with annoyance, but his eyes are full of affection. He curls and uncurls his fingers in your hair. “So, you know. Continue doing that, please.”

You roll your eyes, but comply, pressing several feather light kisses to his lips. His breathing is starting to get heavy, so you take things up a notch and move to mouthing at his neck right below his jaw. He lets slip a little whimper at that. You grin and drag your lips across the skin, press your teeth lightly into the flesh and he shudders and swears, breath quickening. You kiss your way down his neck and the hand on your lower back moves to your ass, pulling your hips closer to his. The both of you gasp and moan at the sudden contact.

“Shit,” he breathes, then moans as you suck at his neck. “ _God_ , Karkat.”

“Mmh, yeah,” you whimper, rolling your hips down into his.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, so you pull away a bit. “Lemme just…” He rolls out from under you, reaches under the bed, grabs a towel, rolls back and spreads it beneath his hips in one fluid motion. “So we don’t have to wash the sheets,” he says with a half smile, pulling you back on top of him.

“Lazy ass,” you mutter, nuzzling back into his neck and pressing your groins together. His bulge feels nice and solid against yours. He bucks his hips up a little and you gasp, biting gently at his neck. You press down against him and he moans breathily. Your bulge wriggles against the front of your pants, searching for something to wrap around.

“C’mere,” Dave says, guiding your face back to his and kissing you on the mouth. He scritches your scalp with one hand and squeezes your ass with the other. A chittering purr starts up in your chest as he rocks his hips against yours. It’s slow, gentle, just like the way he’s kissing you.

“Dave,” you breathe against his lips. Why do you feel like he’s taking care of you? It’s supposed to be the other way around.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I wanna—” You choke on a gasp as he moves against you. “Wanna…” You trail off, slipping a hand under his shirt and he shudders as you splay your fingers across his abs.

“Wanna what,” he manages. You close your eyes and kiss him softly, sweetly, rubbing patterns into his stomach. His hips stutter as you move your hand lower, teasing just above the waistband of his pants. He moans enthusiastically into your mouth, so you dip your fingers under the waistband, tugging a bit, and he groans.

 _Wanna what_ is a good question. What do you want to do? Make him feel good? Make him feel safe and loved and taken care of? Right now, you kind of just want to trail your hand downwards—yeah, just like that—pulling his pants to his knees and rub his inner thigh. His legs tighten and twitch, and he breaks the kiss to press his forehead against yours and let out a shuddering breath. You continue to rub up and down his thigh, pushing closer to the edge of his boxer briefs—why he doesn’t just wear boxers like a normal person you will never understand—each time. By now, he’s sighing and whimpering against your mouth, whispering your name and saying _please, please_. It makes your bulge writhe even harder.

“Can I?” you ask, fingering the waistband of his briefs. God, his bulge—dick, whatever—is straining so hard against the fabric; you think it must be uncomfortable having something so solid and inflexible trapped in such tight quarters.

“Mmh, yeah,” he sighs, then gasps as you tug his underwear out of the way. You resume stroking his inner thigh, inching closer and closer to his dick until you finally, gently, trail your fingers along its length. He swears and moans, and you kiss him again and again. His breathing is heavy, erratic, with an edge of desperation. His eyes are screwed shut and his eyebrows are knitted together. You continue to lazily stroke him with feather light touches until he grasps your face between his hands and says, “Wait.”

You withdraw your hand and he pushes one under your shirt, urging you to take it off. You comply, and then he’s pushing at your pants, so you take those off, too. You realize he’s still wearing his shirt, so you remove that, and pull his pants the rest of the way off. Now the both of you are completely naked. He reaches one hand down and tangles it with your bulge and you groan.

“Dave,” you say, and then you’re back to kissing him. You bring your hand back to his dick, stroking a little more firmly this time, and his back arches off the bed. He thumbs at the base of your bulge, then gently drags his fingers to the tip, eliciting from you a strangled moan. “Dave,” you say again.

“Hmm.”

You bat his hand away from your bulge, allowing it to coil around his dick and he gasps. Your bulge squeezes and writhes, and he rocks his hips up into yours. You moan, forehead falling against his. You kiss his cheek, touch his face, nuzzle into his hair, and his hands scrabble desperately at your back.

“Karkat,” he breathes. “Oh, _god_.”

“Yeah,” you reply, kissing his face all over. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He whines, eyes fluttering open and closed, chest heaving as your bulge pumps him closer to the edge. It’s all very slow and gentle, but it’s not long before heat starts pooling and coiling in your gut.

“Shit,” you hiss, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. “I think—”

“Yeah,” he croaks, nodding vigorously. “Yeah, me too.”

You can’t help but think he looks great like this, all pliant and desperately aroused beneath your touch, and it makes you want to kiss him over and over, so you do. You plant kisses all over his face, his jaw, his neck, and the reedy whimpers he makes at that spur you on. You rock your hips a little faster, kiss him a little harder, stroke his cheek and hair. His breath is unsteady and shuddering, interspersed with moans and whines. 

“Karkat,” he whispers. “I’m, shit—” Suddenly he digs his fingers into your back, holding you tightly. His hips stutter and he comes, crying out the most adorable sound you’ve ever heard from him. You kiss him through his orgasm, holding his face in your hands, and your bulge is still gently caressing him. You roll your hips down into his a few more times, trying to get enough friction, and you’re close, you’re _so close_ but it’s not enough. You remove one of Dave’s hands from your back, place it on your thigh, and he starts massaging the flesh. He rubs up and down, teasingly approaching your nook and then moving away. You kind of want him to fuck you, but he seems too spent for that, so you settle for him stroking the edges of your nook, occasionally squeezing the base of your bulge, and your breath quickens.

“Dave, c’mon, almost,” you pant. He ducks his head under yours and kisses you on the neck, and you moan. “Yeah, keep doing that.” He bites at the skin lightly, then harder, then sucks, fingers tangling with your bulge all the while. You clutch at his shoulders, press down into his touch, tilt your head to expose more of your neck, which he continues to kiss and suck at. “Fuck, yes, so close—” You’re cut off by your own loud moans as he bites down extra hard on your neck, squeezes your bulge with more vigor, and you’re right there, you’re right at the edge, and then he kisses you hard on the mouth, tongue pressing in, one hand scratching at your back, and you finally release, chittering and moaning as your genetic material spills all over his hand and the towel.

“Shit,” he says, pulling away from the kiss, grinning. “That sure was something.”

You roll your eyes and snort, but say, “Yeah? Was it… a good something?”

“Hell yeah,” he says, wiping his hand on the towel, then pushing it off the bed. “It was a _great_ something.”

You laugh, flopping down on top of him. “Good. I’m glad.” Then he places a hand on your cheek, guides your face so you’re looking at him. There’s something gentle in his eyes, but also something searching, something uncertain. “What?” you ask, trying for an annoyed tone but achieving something closer to affection.

“Nothing,” he says, eyes darting away and back again. “Just… I love you, I guess.”

You snort again. “You _guess_?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“How can you be so sure that I do?”

“Because I’ve said it a thousand times!”

“So what? Say it again. Say it properly.”

“Wow, you are such a drama queen. I love you.” You raise an eyebrow. “A lot,” he adds. “Like, a lot a lot. So much.” He smiles a bit. You smile back.

“Okay,” you concede. “I love you, too. You dumbdumb.”

He laughs, then sighs, then wraps his arms around you. You rest your head on his shoulder. After a minute, he says, “You were right, earlier. When you said we only say ‘I love you’ before, during, or after sex.”

“Does that… does it bother you?”

“Nah,” he says. “It’s just how it works out, I guess.”

“Yeah. I guess,” you say. “…What were you thinking just now? When you were looking at me.”

“I already told you, I—”

“Yeah right. You were thinking something. Tell me what it was.”

He’s silent for a moment, then says, “Okay.” Another short silence, then, “I was thinking… about how you’re so good to me. And it’s weird, because usually I’m the one taking care of you and making you feel better but… I’m just not used to the opposite, I guess.”

And fuck if that doesn’t make your chest ache for him. This must be how he feels about you most of the time. What a pathetic pair you two are.

“You don’t,” you start, voice shaky. “You don’t have to take care of me all the time. I can take care of you sometimes, too, you know.”

He laughs quietly. “Look at the two of us. Talking about taking care of each other. I bet normal, functional people aren’t like this.”

“Probably not,” you agree. “But fuck that. May as well be dysfunctional together, right?”

“Yeah,” he says enthusiastically. “We’re just… two fuckups fucking up together.”

“Exactly.”

He laughs again, kisses you on the forehead. You feel warm and soft inside. You snuggle closer to him.

“So,” you say after a minute. “That was good? Me, uh, ‘taking care of you’ I mean.”

“Of course,” he says. “It was perfect. You were… perfect.” Your face heats up.

“Good,” you mumble, grabbing the blanket from the other side of the bed and throwing it over the both of you. He hums and nuzzles into your hair, kisses the top of your head, rests a hand against your chest, and yawns.

“Are you tired, bro? ‘Cause I’m suddenly tired again.”

“ _Again_? We literally just woke up from a nap,” you gripe.

“Yeah, and then we had sex. Aren’t you tired?”

“Well… yeah. A little,” you admit.

“So let’s take another nap. Not like we have anything better to be doing.”

“Alright, alright.” You press against him, inhale his scent, try to absorb him through your skin. His body is warm and solid against yours.

No, you’ve never really liked taking naps. But when you get to nap with Dave, well… maybe it isn’t so bad.


End file.
